Tag: writing prompts

Every month my writing group has a 10 minute writing prompt. The following is my unedited response from our May meeting prompt. (I would have posted it sooner, but I accidentally left it at Kim’s house and just got it back. Sorry to make you wait.)

The prompt: Write a story about someone who can’t get a song out of their head.

“Sing, sing a song. Sing out loud. Sing out strong. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing. Sing a song.”

Yes.

That is the song that has been stuck in my head. For years.

What the fuck?

I mean, literally. What. The. Fuck. With all the concerts I go to and all the music I listen to, some stupid AC hit from the 70’s is the song i sing to myself in the shower every day. When I’m waiting in line at the market. Doing the dishes. Walking my dog.

Is that song from the 70’s? Was it even a hit? Did they play it on the radio? You remember it, don’t you? La-la-la-la-la. La-la-la-la-la. La-la-la-la-la-la. Just sing. Sing a song.

Why? That song is so stupid. I don’t even know who sang it.

Maybe it was just a stupid Coke commercial or something. Great. I’m so basic I don’t even have a real song stuck in my head.

But.

Maybe.

Maybe it isn’t stupid.

That line. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing. Sing a song.

Like writing a shitty first draft. Sort of. Just sing. Just write. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear.

Just sing. Or just write.

Sing a song. Or, you know. Write another fucking book already. Or at least a blog post.

*I was informed by Laurel in my writing group that Sing A Song was indeed a hit in the 70’s, by the Carpenters. (Oh and also, they covered it as it was originally written for Sesame Street.) I really have to find a new song to get stuck in my head.

“What was your Aha Moment?” she asks. As if I’m supposed to know. But the truth is, I haven’t had one yet. It seems Oprah’s had a ton of Aha Moments, so who knows – maybe she stole mine.

“I made cauliflower mashed potatoes,” she says on TV. “Get them at your local supermarket.”

But I searched my Vons high and low and I could not find those fucking cauliflower mashed potatoes anywhere. Maybe it’s because I’m a Trader Joe’s shopper.

So it seems not only can I not find my Aha Moment, I can’t even find Oprah’s Aha Moment even though it’s advertised on national television. During prime time.

There have been times I thought I’ve had an Aha Moment. AHA! That’s what I’m going to do. This or that or fill in the blank, but I’ve never done any of those things. I don’t even remember what any of them were because I didn’t do them. Aha meet blazy.* Blazy is the winner.

So that moment? I’m still waiting for it. Maybe I’ll find it one day in Vons next to Oprah’s cauliflower mashed potatoes.

*Blazy is a term my writing group came up with that means being blasé about your laziness.

But why am I telling you this? There is a great blog that I read called Mama’s Losin’ It written by an awesome blogger named Kathy (or Mama Kat) who gives writing prompts every week. When you write a blog using one of the prompts you can link your blog to her site and (hopefully) get more reads. Very cool and very generous of her. Thank you Mama Kat!

I can definitely use a writing prompt this week (and possibly every week) as I am coming up dry lately. Seriously dry. Unless you want to hear about my kids’ Spring Break where I planned absolutely nothing and Marley has been sitting around all week watching My Strange Addiction. Yeah, I wouldn’t want to hear about that either. (And I certainly don’t want to write it!)

So, one of the writing prompts was to write about a 7th grade memory. And since Marley is in 7th grade I thought this would be a good one.

The problem is I’ve been trying to forget about the 7th grade for the last 35 years. (Shut up about how old I am. Shut! Up!)

When I was in 7th grade (Oh god, I do sound old now…When I was your age…), 7th grade was the beginning of Jr. High. There was no middle school back then. It was elementary K-6, jr. high 7-9, and high school 10-12.

And 7th grade sucks. Or 6th grade. Let’s just say your first year into jr. high (or middle school or whatever). Sucks. Big time. Everyone knows that.

For the first time you’re trying to balance homework from different classes. You’re getting pimples. And possibly your period. (Which makes you a weepy crazy over-reacts-to-everything irrational cranky-ass bitch.)

And there are so many distractions. Like boys. And girls who have cuter clothes than you do. (Which is all of them. Except that weird girl in your 2nd period class who came to school Monday in the exact same rainbow top that ties on the side that you wore to school last Friday. Copycat Bitch!) And boys. Did I mention boys? They’re very distracting. Very.

And you start cursing, not only in your head like you sometimes did in elementary school, but out loud. So mean girls (which is all of them -even your former elementary school friends) are bitches and mean guys (which are the cute ones) are assholes. Because you know, you sound so much cooler when you say words like that. That asshole! That bitch!

The popular mean girls are pretty. They have no pimples. Their mothers buy them clothes from Judy’s or Contempo Casuals (the Brandy Melville and Abercrombie of yesteryear) instead of Gemco where your mother buys yours. Some of them sneer at you as you walk by. Others give you a fakey-fake smile and say, “Hi-how-are-you-I-love-your-rainbow-top” as they pass you in the hallways but you hear them snicker and comment on the fact that you obviously only have two pairs of Dittos -and not even the side-saddle kind- as soon as they’re behind your back.

You hate the popular mean girls. But only because you want to be them.

And if you are honest with yourself (but who is at that age) you will admit that you are probably just as mean as they are. After all, you said some pretty rude things about the weird girl who copied your rainbow top to your friends. Not that you have any friends. Not like in elementary school when life was easy.

Because in 7th grade the girls are mean. And the homework is hard. And the cute boys are assholes distracting.

So the only real memory I have from the 7th grade is that it sucked. (But that’s okay – because 8th grade when I kissed a boy and started babysitting so I could occasionally shop at the mall- totally ruled!)

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